


Perfect Day

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-30
Updated: 2009-06-30
Packaged: 2019-11-21 20:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18147071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: Absence makes the heart grow fonder… and fuels desire faster.





	Perfect Day

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: Saturday in the Bath with Bridget
> 
> Yes, I know; this is not new ground for me, but… well, I love that Bridget has a rubber duckie.  
> Thanks, everyone, for the kind words today. This is my way of celebrating life. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Very much not mine.

He knew she liked surprises.

He knew she hated when he was away for business.

Therefore it was of paramount importance that he return to her unannounced.

Quietly he slipped into the house and out of his shoes. He set his bag down by the door, hung his coat by the door, then proceeded to look for her.

She was not to be found on the lower floor of the house, nor on the ground floor; it perplexed him that she would be upstairs on a Saturday afternoon. He crept up the stairs to the second floor, and an irrational déjà vu came over him as he reached the landing at the top of the stairs. He could hear Bridget's voice, lilting in song and talking in a low tone. He saw that the bedroom door was open, and he could hear water sloshing about. She was in the bath.

As he crossed the threshold into the bedroom, her words became clearer. Between sluices of water as she squeezed her bath sponge over her skin, he could hear her interchanging what he presumed were snippets of trilled pop love songs and declarations that she be perfectly pink, perfumed, clean and coiffed by the time Mark got home later that evening.

He crept closer to the bathroom door.

She was in fact in the tub, the commodious round spa tub she had asked for upon their wedding, and one they had so often enjoyed together. The air was redolent with the scent of roses and vanilla, no surprise considering the tub was bursting with bubbles. Her back was to the door, so she did not see him hovering there. The bottom edge of her hair was damp, had remnants of suds on the edge, as if she had been reclined in the water previously.

She tilted her head as her leg emerged from the soapy water; she rested her foot on the edge of the bathtub and scrubbed at her leg with the sponge. He watched the bubbles slide along the curve of her calf before she swept the sponge over them again. That first leg went back into the bath and the second came up and out, sending the water to swishing up onto her back, and she washed the second leg as diligently as the first.

She began to talk again. He realised it was directed to the rubber duck perched on the edge of the bath. "Soak for just a little longer," she said earnestly. "Don't want to be all pruned up when Mark gets home. Mmmm." She slid down into the water until she was submerged to her chin. "Really hate when he's gone for a week at a time," she said. "Get so damned lonely." From the way the water was moving about, he suspected she had her eyes closed and was indulging in a little fantasy, pretending his hands were roaming on her skin; this was supported by the sigh that escaped her lips.

He circled around a little to afford a better angle; her eyes were unsurprisingly closed, her lower lip pulled between her teeth. He caught glimpses between islands of bubbles of what her hands were doing beneath the water, running over her breasts and arms, travelling over her stomach and over her thighs as she sighed again. Her hair was splayed around her face and waving gently in the current of the water, the barest tips of her rosy nipples broke the surface of the water as she moved under her own ministrations. He was mesmerised by her effortless sensuality, floating there as if she were some sort of water nymph; the totality of sight, scent and sound all incredibly arousing, especially since he had not seen her for far too long.

Careful to make no sound, he walked forward, and from just over her left shoulder, he leaned over, intent on surprising her with a kiss. She must have opened her eyes just as he was about to kiss her, though, because he heard a shriek and a big splash of water as she moved in response; he was so startled that he lost his footing. The low bathtub wall served as a perfect fulcrum and he tipped directly into the water.

Fully dressed.

When he emerged from beneath the surface of the water, he heard her laughing; clearly she had realised he was not a mad rapist or killer, reinforced by the way she ran her fingers over his sodden hair. Between breathless giggles, she managed, "Oh, Mark, I am so sorry…"

"Not as sorry as this suit's going to be," he said, thinking of the dry-clean-only label. "And I'm afraid the present I bought you might be beyond recovery." He turned over to sit properly in the bath, pulling his legs in as he resigned himself to being in such a state for now. He then dug his hand into his breast pocket. He drew out a dripping journal, whose pages were made of handmade paper with tiny flowers pressed into it, and handed it to her. "Sorry."

"Oh," she said, her eyebrows arcing in her disappointment, even as she giggled. "Well, all hope may not be lost." She reached over to set it down on the side of the bathtub, forming a little sodden tent with it. "Thank you for the thought." She pushed herself over to where he sat, crawled up onto his lap, revealing even more of her water-sheened skin. Of its own accord he brought his hand up around to rest on her hip as she bent to kiss him. With the time they'd been apart, it quickly escalated to something quite passionate; he cursed the presence of his likely ruined suit.

After some moments, she sat upright again. "Welcome home."

"Mmm," he murmured. 

She drew her fingertips over the lines of his face, her eyes not leaving his for a moment. "Who would have thought that wishing for you to be here would make you manifest like magic?"

"It looked to me like you were doing more than just wishing," he said.

She smiled and pulled her lips into a smug little smile. "How long were you standing there?"

"Long enough to wonder if you talk to your duck often… and to wish this suit was sitting on a chair across the room."

She chuckled. "Only when you're gone. As for the latter, it isn't too late for that," she advised. She brought her fingers up and tried working the tie open. The fabric was naturally soaking wet, which made the knot harder to undo, but with a little work and some more chuckling on her part, she got it free. She pulled off the tie and tossed it onto the floor, and it landed with an unexpectedly weighty, wet thud.

"This is going to make a huge mess," she said, quite sensibly, pushing herself off of his lap.

He nodded, then rose to his feet, water rushing down him. "I think the water level in this bathtub just went down by a hand span, thanks to the wool," he said as she chuckled. He then proceeded to undress himself, heavy sodden suit jacket and trousers first (he was thanking his lucky stars that he'd put his wallet and passport in his attaché), then the dress shirt, undershirt, socks and finally his boxers.

He sank down to join her again, lying back in the water, and she wasted no time in floating up to him, her body over his; his hands slid over her skin as she covered his mouth with hers.

"Missed you," she whispered; her fingers combed through his hair.

"I could tell," he whispered in return, thinking of what he'd witnessed, his desire flaring anew. With his hands on her waist, he pulled her against him and kissed her once more; he moved his hands down over the curve of her backside, to linger and tease just where her legs met. "Missed you too."

"I could tell," she said, echoing him, underscoring her point by pushing her hips forward into where he was growing firmer by the moment. She then moved to straddle his lap as she kissed him again, deeply, hungrily. One hand dove down beneath the water, running over his chest and abdomen before finding their target. He groaned into her mouth as she worked her own magic on him.

He managed her name unsteadily, hoping to convey to her that he'd had quite enough of her wonderful ministrations and instead wanted to make love to her properly; the strangled quality of his voice must have adequately imparted that need, because she stopped what she was doing, pulled herself up, then, with torturous slowness, began to descend upon him. Instinctively, his hands went to her hips and he pulled her down roughly. She uttered an _Oh_ in response and her arms went around his neck; as she kissed him again, she rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the water splashing about as she did. He broke away from the kiss to bury his face in her neck, wet fronds of her hair teasing his cheek as he grazed the skin of her throat with his teeth, biting gently, eliciting moans and whimpers from her as she moved a little more quickly, a lot more erratically.

Her escalating cries, the pressure of her legs tightening against his, told him she was close to the edge, possibly even closer than he was, though he was determined to see her climax first; he moved his hands from her hips to her bottom, then began to massage her with his fingers then squeeze her arse in time with her movements. She gasped, breathing hotly on his cheek as her pace picked up. With the water tumultuously lapping against them, she cried out as she came.

Her undulations only slowed by a small degree, but did not stop altogether. Close to his ear, she said, "Love you," before kissing him on his jaw, moving quickly to his throat then up until her lips then teeth found his earlobe. The feel of her teeth raking on his skin, biting just hard enough to fire up an exquisite pleasure-pain, triggered the release he had been working so hard to restrain.

As those magnificent climactic feelings subsided, he leaned his head back on the edge of the tub, his breath ragged. She was still against him and he felt her lips press against his Adam's apple, before she rested her cheek against his skin.

"Love you too," he murmured in return.

He felt rather than heard her giggle. "Am very glad for it."

He brought his arms up and wrapped them around her, holding her close. "I can think of few other things I like more than spending Saturday afternoon soaking in the tub with you."

"And the shag," she said. "Don't forget the shag."

"I could never," he said huskily. "Though the water is getting a little cool."

"Have a splendid idea," she said. "How about drying off and retiring to bed? Bamboo sheets, very soft, very luxurious…"

"A tempting offer to be sure," he said. "Though I might remind you it is three in the afternoon, and we should not spend the whole day in bed."

"Why not?" she asked, quite matter-of-factly as she sat up. "I'm pretty sure you don't have anywhere else to be, and I have a whole week to make up with you."

"I'm not as young as I once was," he reminded with a chuckle low in his throat. "I'm not sure I have the stamina to make up for an entire week."

She laughed as pushed herself to stand; the water raced down over her breasts, stomach and legs. "Sex isn't all I had in mind, my dear man."

He smiled. He rose from the water then stepped out, patting himself down with a towel before reaching for a second towel to receive her out of the water. She stepped down into his waiting arms and he patted down her warm pink skin with the fluffy cotton. She beamed a smile up to him, closing her eyes and purring a soft sound of content.

He put his arm around her shoulder and walked her to the bed, sweeping her in his arms and kissing her deeply until she began to giggle.

"What, darling?"

"Thought you didn't have the stamina," she said, pulling away to turn down the sheets before climbing in. She turned over to face him, striking a pinup pose and smiling prettily to him. Without a word he joined her, quickly pulling her up against him, then pulling the sheets over the two of them. Between the velvety feel of her skin and the smooth nap of the fabric, he found himself needing to immerse himself in her; his embrace tightened, his lips searched for hers and he kissed her again.

She was giggling again when he reared his head back. "You are too much," she said.

"I guess I didn't realise how much I missed you," he said in a low voice, his hand travelling over her back and shoulder to trail delicate fingers over her collarbone. When they moved to trace circles over her breast, the giggles abated and were replaced by soft sighs.

"You know what you are?" she asked softly. "A miracle."

He splayed his hand over her rib cage, then brushed around to embrace her, to hold her; he then placed tender little kisses all over her cheek, her chin, her jaw before burying his nose into her damp hair. "And you, darling, are a genius."

"How do you mean?" she murmured, kissing his cheek in return.

"Staying in bed all day," he replied. "Genius." He continued to rain kisses upon her. "I must amend my earlier statement, though. I like this far better than even soaking in the tub."

"Mmm," she said in agreement, tightening her own embrace, wrapping her leg around him. His fingers came down over her rear to stroke the soft skin of the back of her leg. "So how was your trip?"

He ceased his movement. "My trip?" he asked, perplexed that she would query him on such a thing considering their current position.

"Mm-hm," she said. "Was it productive? Did you have a nice time? Was the drive—"

"Bridget," he interrupted. It was his turn to chuckle. "Do you think I can even remember the slightest detail of the trip at a time like this?"

"Such a man, you are," she teased, pushing her hips forward into him. "Blood's either at one end, or the other, hm?"

"I'll give you two guesses as to which end it is right now," he said, nibbling at her ear again.

"No stamina— _oh_ —my left eye," she said, gasping mid-sentence, her fingernails prickling into the skin of his back.

"And sex wasn't all you had in mind," he murmured in return, his fingers reaching between her legs, confirming his suspicions. She writhed against him in response then lifted her head back to claim his mouth with her own so roughly her teeth nicked into his lips. He returned her kiss with matching passion, his hand reaching for her knee to pull it up then push it out of the way, before turning so that he was atop her, folding his legs under himself. She made a sound low in her throat, lifting her chin, as he lifted her hips to rest on his thighs. She circled her legs around him as he leaned forward, driving into her, making her breathing go rough and staggered. She arched into him with each push forward, moaning and growling desperately; the response he was getting from her was a lot more animalistic than usual, which in turn fuelled his own desire exponentially. Each subsequent thrust was harder than the last until he was sure he had reached his breaking point; everything he felt, paired with the way she was moving with him, shattered his ability to hold back, and he came quite unexpectedly with a guttural groan.

With the way she cried out and arched up into him, the way shudders racked through her entire body, it was clear that she found her own release, and she let out a long breath, a satisfied sigh as she sank flat to the bed. He rested beside her, his cheek on the pillow next to her. She turned to look at him, her lids heavy in her pleasure.

"It wasn't all I had in mind," she said breathlessly, "but neither am I about to turn it down."

He chuckled low in his throat, stretching forward to kiss the tip of her nose affectionately. "I didn't think you wanted me only for my body."

"Of course not," she replied. "You make a nice omelette too."

His reaction, a bit of stunned silence, caused her to burst into gales of laughter. "Guess the blood hasn't made it back up top yet," she said.

He slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her over to hold her to him; his fingers slid over her backside and playfully pinched her. 

"Eee!" she exclaimed in response, laughing lightly again, as he pulled her to rest against his chest. She splayed her hand upon his abdomen, and after many moments, she murmured, "You naughty man." 

He kissed her forehead; a third time was definitely out of the question, as he was now completely spent, between travelling home and reuniting with his wife after a week apart. He felt his lids drooping. "The other 'three little words' I have been longing to hear from you," he said.

His only response was soft snoring.

Amused by her ability to drop off to sleep more quickly after sex than he did—a supposed male failing—he kissed her forehead once more then closed his eyes, joining her in utterly contented and deserved sleep.

………

He opened his eyes to find she was not beside him. Even more curious still, he could hear the whirring of… well, he wasn't sure what it was, so he pushed back the sheets and made his way towards the sound. When he saw the sight before him in the bathroom, it was all he could do not to laugh out loud:

Bridget, in her robe, was sitting on the closed toilet lid and was using the hairdryer in an attempt to rescue the hand-made journal from drowning. It was clearly not going well, judging by the way the book's pages seemed to have expanded to three times their original size in thickness.

"I don't think you're ever going to get that book closed."

She looked up at him with a slightly sour face, then looked back down at the book. She tried to close it. As she did, the book's binding gave way and popped open. At that, he could no longer hold his laughter in, earning him a murderous look. He went over to her and took the pages from her hands, setting them down on the counter.

"As a wise woman once said," Mark said, pulling her to her feet and into his arms, causing her to giggle, "'it's only a diary'."

_The end._


End file.
